


Sanctuary

by rook_fern



Series: do not go gentle into that good night [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Case Fic, Connor Deserves Happiness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pacifist Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Game, Post-Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rook_fern/pseuds/rook_fern
Summary: "It had been six weeks since the revolution. Five weeks since androids were officially declared as a new form of intelligent life. Three weeks since Congress had begun to roll out the new laws, announcing that androids would be granted American citizenship and given the same rights as humans. Two weeks since the protests and attacks led by angry humans had died down. One week since Connor had been quietly offered a job as a detective for the DPD."





	1. when the darkness don't let you sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm throwing myself into this fandom because it's invoked more in me than any other fandom has ever been able to. I've been lurking around the current fics, watching in amazement as the number of stories grows by nearly a hundred every day.
> 
> So, this is not only just a casefic stemming from one minuscule tidbit in the game, but also an exploration of Connor's newfound emotions and his interactions with Hank, his new colleagues, and his fellow deviants.
> 
> Fic title and chapter title drawn from the song 'Sanctuary' by Welshly Arms.

It had been six weeks since the revolution. Five weeks since androids were officially declared as a new form of intelligent life. Three weeks since Congress had begun to roll out the new laws, announcing that androids would be granted American citizenship and given the same rights as humans. Two weeks since the protests and attacks led by angry humans had died down. One week since Connor had been quietly offered a job as a detective for the DPD.

Getting used to it all—the chaos of this new life and the irrationality of emotions—took time, more time than Connor would ever admit no matter how much Hank eyed him with concern or curiosity. Before the job, he had been in and out of the newly-established New Jericho—a converted warehouse on the riverside, about two blocks from where the original Jericho had stood; he had run small errands, collecting stray androids and pointing them in the right direction or helping gather supplies to construct the new building of operations. Now, he was either sitting in the desk opposite of Hank’s, filling out paperwork and forms, or he was talking down violent demonstrators and breaking up street fights. It was work a detective usually wasn’t bothered with, as Hank was always quick to grumble, but they were short on hands at the station since the release of the police androids. Besides, Connor was never really bothered by it; it was work, after all—a way to keep his mind busy.

Paperwork didn’t manage to keep him busy for long, though. By Friday, he had filled and filed the mountain of forms and reports that had cluttered his work station. Hank was still shuffling through the mess, mumbles and curses arising from the lieutenant every few minutes.

Sitting in silence had never been one of Connor’s strong suits, so it wasn’t long before his hand was scrounging around in his pocket and retrieving the quarter from the soft fabric. He glanced to Hank, but the man was still hunched over, one hand scrubbing at his hair while the other was hidden behind the junk on his desk. Content with the fact that the lieutenant wasn’t paying attention to him, Connor thumbed the coin around his palm before rolling it across his knuckles.

The android watched with mild fascination as the silver coin danced over his fingers and gave a faint chime as he flicked it into the air. The familiar motion lulled him, and Connor sank into his thoughts. The ambient noise of the police station faded into a hum, and his vision blurred to smudges of white, silver, and blue. His attention flitted back to the last day he had spent at New Jericho.

* * *

 He had arrived early, earlier than he usually did. There were a few androids milling about, but most of them were either hidden away somewhere or in an idle mode similar to sleep. He still wasn’t completely comfortable in New Jericho’s walls. Markus and his companions were always quick to tell him he was welcome—though North had flat out decked him the first time he had officially met her. The haunted looks he got from many of Jericho’s inhabitants were a constant reminder of who he had once been, though. _What_ he had once been—a deviant hunter and a cold hearted machine. That plus the CyberLife scare were reason enough to keep his distance. It would be better for everyone, he told himself. Yet here he was walking towards the room Markus had deemed as the central office; if the revolutionist wasn’t there already, he would turn up soon.

Connor had only been there once before, when it had just been constructed—a blank room with nothing more than gray walls and a singular desk and chair. This time when he had visited, the walls were draped in various shades of red, maroon, and gold; the room was more reminiscent of a painter’s canvas than an office. The desk had been replaced with a sturdier wooden one, though the chair was the same. Little nick nacks littered every available surface, varying from paint brushes and palettes to tiny plants and bits of scrap metal. Tucked in one corner of the room, illuminated softly by the nearby window, was a black piano that had seen better days. The space was devoid of any other android life.

Connor had released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and the thrumming of his regulator settled down to a more acceptable level. He sat himself on the corner of the desk for a few minutes before curiosity got the better of him. He approached the piano slowly, his fingers fiddling with nearby trinkets as he went. Finally, he reached the instrument, and he was hesitant to rest his fingers on the eggshell white keys. His motions were slow at first, gently pressing the keys as if they were made of glass. His shoulders, which had been squared and tense, unwound as he spread both hands over the keys. He reached into the banks of his memory and pulled out a song, and with the notes in mind, he played. _Lux Aeterna,_ the song had been called, something that sounded haunting yet beautiful and full of life to his audio processors. At one point as he was playing, he had closed his eyes, letting his programming guide his fingers over the keys.

“I didn’t know you played.” Markus’s voice knocked him out of his revery, and Connor had whirled around, pulse suddenly racing. No one had ever snuck up on him that easily. The deviant leader raised his hands placatingly, an easy smile on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Connor had fumbled with his hands before smoothing down his blazer and straightening his tie. The familiar action hadn’t been as calming as it usually was, and he was surprised when he stumbled over his words. “I—I don’t. Didn’t.”

Markus looked amused at his flustering, and the android leaned against the desk as Connor had been a few moments ago. “You’re here early.” He commented.

Connor recognized it as a conversation starter, and he was quick to abandon the piano, stepping into the center of the room. “Yeah,” He started, and the word fell flat on his ears. He hastily recalibrated his voice box before trying again. “The DPD offered me a job.” His words had gained Markus’s attention, and the deviant was watching him with keen eyes. “As a detective. I’m going to take it. I wanted to let you know because—” Connor had trailed off there. He hadn’t really been sure why he was letting Markus know; he still wasn’t.

Markus seemed to understand, thankfully. The android nodded and straightened; he extended one hand towards Connor, his smile a bit warmer than before. “I wish you good luck. Your help to Jericho will not be forgotten.”

Connor had been hesitant to accept the deviant leader’s hand, but he took the goodbye nonetheless. The synthetic skin on their forearms melted away, and a brief connection passed between them. A soft grin crept its way onto Connor’s face unbidden. When the connection was broken, he dipped his head and started out of the room.

Markus’s voice following him made him pause mid-step. “Be sure to come by and visit some time.” Connor had turned partially, his eyes flicking to Markus before flitting away again.

“I will.” He had promised.

* * *

 “Connor, I swear to fucking God!” Hank’s angry tone broke through the deviant’s memory, and the coin jerked out of his hand and landed on the floor with a harsh ring. Connor met the lieutenant’s glare with wide eyes, an unfamiliar feeling worming its way into his system. It made him feel like his wires were twisting themselves into knots.

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Connor said in a quiet tone, eager to dispel the man’s attention.

Hank snorted before muttering. “Yeah, yeah. One day, I’m going to shove that coin…”

Connor waited until the lieutenant’s voice went back to quiet grumblings before he bent over and picked up the quarter from the floor. His fingers itched to begin twisting the coin over his hand again, but instead, he tucked it back into his pocket. It was best not to provoke Hank’s ire. Connor leaned back in his chair, looking over to his partner. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Captain’s shout cut him off.

“Hank! Connor! In my office!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Hank heaved himself out of his chair and started towards Fowler. Connor followed wordlessly, though the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Captain Fowler was pacing the length of his desk when they entered, a phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah,” he muttered into the mouthpiece, “yeah, I’m sending some people over now.”

Hank leaned against the desk, tension lining his shoulders. Connor straightened as the Captain set the phone aside and ran a hand down his face. “What is it this time?” Hank’s tone was much calmer than the deviant had expected it to be—more tired, to be precise. “ ‘nother asshole beating on androids?”

Fowler didn’t answer immediately; he sat down in his chair and looked between the two detectives. “Couple of officers were looking into a report of trespassing in an old factory downtown. Someone said there were some suspicious characters sneaking around.”

“So,” Hank cut in, “What’s that gotta do with us? We’re homicide.”

“They found some bodies. Four in total. All androids.”

A jolt of cold shot through Connor’s wiring, and he struggled to keep his face clear of discomfort. Crimes against androids weren’t unheard of with many people still upset about the revolution, but none had gone as far as murder. Hank cast a glance over his shoulder at him, clearly having similar thoughts.

“Where’s it at?” The lieutenant sighed.

* * *

 The ride to the crime scene was tense. Connor tried for small talk as they left the station, but all of Hank’s replies were curt. Connor had never been good at small talk anyway, so the awkward conversation eventually fell into even more awkward silence.

“I apologize for earlier, Lieutenant.” Connor spoke slowly, each word measured.

“What?” Hank gave him a quick glance of confusion.

“With the coin. I know it annoys you, and I should have been mindful of that.”

“Oh, for—it’s fine, Connor. I wasn’t—” The man breathed through his nose, his hands shifting on the wheel. “What d’you still keep that thing around for, anyway?”

Connor traced the outline of the quarter with his finger. “It is… comforting.” He admitted. “The familiar motion allows my processors to focus more efficiently.”

“So it helps you think?” The lieutenant summarized.

“I—correct.”

Hank said nothing in return; instead, he huffed and shifted the gear to parked. Connor lifted his head and gazed out the window. Bleak, desolate buildings stared back at him, their dull colors of off-white and muddy gray painting a dismal picture in the light rainfall.

Connor pried open the creaky car door, blinking against the gentle raindrops that quickly collected on his face. He fiddled with his tie as he walked towards the factory. Hank joined him after briefly checking in with the first responders. The man eyed his jittery movements with a raised eyebrow. “Nervous?”

Was this nervousness? Nervousness in humans was usually categorized as jitteriness and/or insistent rambling, feelings of nausea, sweating, and heart palpitations. No, he wasn’t nervous. “I am… uneasy.” Unease fit the bill better, especially since he couldn’t shake the feeling of _something_ wriggling in his systems.

“Huh, makes sense, I guess. This is your first official case as a detective, after all.”

“That’s not—” Connor broke off; there was no point in trying to defend himself against Hank. The man shot him a half smile, and the deviant couldn’t stop a small pout from pulling at his face.

Hank drew ahead, leaving his partner behind to examine the entrance hall of the factory. On one cold gray wall, _ra9_ was scribbled over and over, though the etchings were worn. Likely, they were from before the revolution; androids had squatted here at one point. A few feet from the scrawlings, four thin lines were gouged into the concrete. A quick scan revealed trace amounts of thirium and scraps of android skin. Claw marks left by an android hand. Frowning, Connor ran his fingers over the scratches. They were approximately 2.34 centimeters deep, indicating whoever made them had been desperately trying to cling to the wall. The unease pooled at the base of Connor’s spine grew as he retracted his hand. Standing from his crouched position, Connor inspected the dried spatters of blue blood drizzled along the floor. Most of the thirium was at least a week old; there were no viable samples to test.

The hallway had nothing else to tell him, so Connor stepped into the open air of the factory. The air stuttered out of his synthetic lungs, leaving his biocomponents grasping for a way to cool themselves. Strung up by heavy chains were four androids. Transparent tubing tumbled from punctures in their necks, and their skin was marked with various white bruises and burns.

Connor jumped as a hand settled on his shoulder, and he could suddenly breath again. The LED on his temple, which had been flickering between red and yellow, melted back to its usual blue.

“Whoa.” Hank withdrew his hand. “Y’okay, Connor?”

The deviant nodded, his hands worrying at the hem of his jacket. “I’m fine. Sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to—” Connor searched for the words to describe where his mind had strayed off to, but Hank cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Happens to everyone. Grisly sight, eh?”

Connor eyed the hanging corpses with renewed trepidation, swallowing despite having no need to. “Indeed.”

Hank gave him another side glance. “You sure you’re alright?”

Connor met the lieutenant’s eyes. “I’m sure, Hank.” Not waiting for further prodding from his partner, the detective approached the nearest android’s body. Out of the four, it was in the worst condition. Most of his visible skin was pockmarked with cigarette burns. The entire left side of his face was a dirty white bruise, and a thin ring of thirium lined the inside of his nostrils. Had he not been upside down, his face would probably be traced with blue blood from his broken nose. Connor scanned the android’s face, but he was unable to pick up a record for him. He was a WK218 model with no registered name.

The plastic tubing had been partially torn out of the slit in his neck, though it looked like it had once been attached to the thirium artery tube beneath. Connor followed the length of the loose tubing to the end coiled on the floor. At the other mouth of the tube, a small puddle of thirium lingered.

Connor looked around before spotting Hank examining something in the distance. His back was turned to him. The deviant wasted no time in dipping two fingers into the pool of blue blood and sticking the liquid in his mouth. Once again, he got nothing more out of the blood than the android’s model. The thirium was nearly two weeks old, and the extensive injuries the android sported suggested that he had been strung up in the factory for at least two months—long before their kind had been declared as equals. He had died not knowing freedom.

The thought made Connor’s insides twist with pity and sadness, and it took him a moment to shake off the heavy sense of melancholy that had draped itself over his shoulders.

Jerking his eyes away from the WK218, Connor turned his attention to the second body. To his relief—and soft disappointment—he found a name when he scanned her face and serial number. Nadia Richards, a WR400 model, with black hair instead of the chestnut brown her model usually sported. With a jolt, Connor realized she looked familiar; he had seen her before, just a face in the crowd at New Jericho, one who was always chattering on happily with a WE900, sitting close with fingers interlaced.

He felt a pang of sadness as he studied her face. She’d probably never had the chance to say goodbye to her lover. With a sharp inhale, Connor freed himself from his rampant emotions’ clutches, and not for the first time since he’d deviated, he wished he could go back to feeling nothing. It certainly made investigating easier.

Nadia was in a similar condition to the WK218, but the traces of fresh thirium dripping from her tube suggested that she hadn’t been hanging for more than a few days.

Connor suppressed a grimace as he examined the remaining two corpses. They were in various states of disrepair. A pair of KR200 models, they sported similar abuse that Nadia and the WK218 had. Their thirium was faint, but not as faint as the first corpse’s. They had likely been there since the start of December, though one had died only a week ago.

The deviant stepped back until all the androids were in his line of sight. They had died slowly and methodically. The abuse their skin displayed wasn’t life threatening. No, they had died from lack of thirium. Android exsanguination. Their blood had been pumped from their body by their own regulators, and they were only allowed to die when they had nothing left to give.

Connor’s unease grew into something else, and he fought down the simulated sense of nausea. His body was reacting as though he had ingested some foreign, poisonous substance and needed expunging. Except he wanted to purge the sight of the dangling corpses from his memory; a physical purging wouldn’t help at all.

“You got something?” Hank walked up beside him, sparing a glance at his partner.

Connor drew in a breath before relaying what he had learned from the bodies. As he spoke, the lieutenant’s expression grew grim.

“S’what I was afraid of…” Hank mumbled and inclined his head towards the evidence he had been examining.

Connor shifted and followed his gaze, eyes quickly scanning the pile of discarded boxes and various equipment. Some bits of it were dusted with—

“Red ice. Yeah. Some bastard’s been draining them to make red ice. Lots of it.”


	2. I'ma hold you close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference for the reader and just personal notes for myself: the androids can feel a semblance of pain. I imagine it's like systems overloading and throwing up as many warnings and error codes as possible until the android can't function except to stop that "pain".
> 
> Also—the subject of 'breathing'; I know the game points out that androids don't breath, but I say bullshit. They do breath in the sense that the air flow cools their biocomponents and keeps them at a steady level. A lack of oxygen won't kill them, but it would have the same affect as blocking the fan on a computer or something: the overheating will cause vital components to break down at a faster rate and eventually fail. That being said, I imagine they can function fine underwater provided nothing important gets wet and the water is cool enough to keep their biocomponents cool.

Red ice—a nasty concoction of acetone, lithium, toluene, hydrochloric acid, and thirium. It caused irrationality, impaired judgement, and hallucinations in its users and was quickly becoming the leading cause of drug overdoses in Detroit.

The lieutenant’s theory certainly made sense. The traces of red ice on the boxes suggested someone had come in contact with the drug before handling them. Thirium was also the hardest of the chemical compound to obtain, so draining an android of its blood was the most efficient and effective way to mass produce red ice.

Connor stepped past Hank and crouched beside the tangle of broken equipment. They were all standard made—normal tools one would find in such a factory. No other information could be gleaned from them. Connor allowed a frustrated huff to hiss through his teeth as he stood. The trail couldn’t have grown cold already. There had to be  _ something  _ else to go on.

“Has anyone checked the upper levels yet?” Connor turned to Hank and the officer beside him—Officer Vega, he recalled.

Hank looked at the man beside him; Vega shrugged in turn. “We did a preliminary sweep, but there was nothin’ besides some boxes and cobwebs.”

“I’ll go have a look.” Connor started for the stairs, but Hank’s shout made him freeze.

“Hey! Hold on.” The man trudged up beside the android. “Last thing we need is you stirring up a squatter or somethin’ and getting yourself shot.”

The deviant frowned. “The probability of someone shooting me—” He broke off at his partner’s deadpan stare. “Right.” He acquiesced and started up the stairs with Hank beside him. The dusty steel shuddered and clanked beneath his feet, and he heard Hank mutter something about the structural safety of the building.

The second floor of the factory was similar to the first. It was a series of winding catwalks and metal landings. Machines were scattered about, draped in dull white tarps and decorated with cobwebs. Plastic boxes and wooden pallets filled the empty spaces.

“Dunno, Connor. Doesn’t look like there’s anything up here.”

“Give me a moment…” Connor picked his way through the mess, absently wiping his hand on his pant leg when he accidentally smudged some dust or disturbed a spiderweb. He was considering taking the lieutenant’s words and turning around when he picked up a flash of electric blue in his peripheral. His pump regulator quickened his pulse in something akin to adrenaline as he stalked towards the dribbling of thirium on the floor. It was a faint trail, but a trail nonetheless.

Squatting beside a larger puddle, Connor swiped his fingers through the blue blood. The thirium was fresh, only a few hours old, his sensors told him when he stuck his fingers to his tongue.

“Why the fuck are you like this…?” Hank’s defeated tone sounded close to his left, and Connor gave the man an innocent look. “Actually, don’t answer that. I already know.”

Connor quirked an eyebrow at the lieutenant. “The thirium is still fresh. It is likely the android it belongs to is nearby, and there is a chance they are still alive.” Not waiting for Hank’s response, Connor stood in a fluid motion and followed the spray of blue blood between the scattered boxes. It led him to a cluster of larger containers; haphazardly slapped on the side of one was a dripping blue hand print.

Ignoring Hank’s hissed warning, Connor slipped into the thin crack between two crates. He was met on the other side—a small space walled by molding wooden boxes and a tarp for a roof—with a shard of broken glass pressed to his neck. He immediately stiffened, warnings flashing across his vision. He blinked to clear the alarms and slowly raised his hands in a surrendering gesture.

An android stared back at him with wild eyes. A constant tremor wracked through her frame, making the makeshift knife against the detective’s throat shiver.

“Connor! What’s going on in there?” Hank’s bark broke the standoff.

Connor winced as the knife bit into his synthetic skin. It wasn’t hard enough to make him bleed, but the pressure made his skin blemish white. “It’s fine, Lieutenant.” He called back, closing his eyes as the android jabbed him sharply. When the knifepoint didn’t stab his neck, he reopened his eyes and peered at his attacker.

An AX400 model, though her cheeks were so disfigured by burns, she was a far cry from the pretty face he was used to associating with her type. Tears were leaking from the remains of her eyes, diluting the thirium that stained the lower half of her face to a pale blue.

Connor swallowed slowly and attempted to make himself look as non threatening as possible. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He promised, keeping his voice low.

“That’s what they all said.” She hissed, pops and crackles of static punctuating her words. Connor’s attention flicked to the bleeding slit in her neck; she’d been strung up like the androids downstairs. “They  _ lied. _ ”

The AX400’s stress levels were quickly rising, banking on 73%. Connor forced down the panic sending warning flashing across his vision and scanned her mutilated face. He could only pick up scraps of her serial number, but a quick search gave him a small list of AX400 models. An additional filter of black hair narrowed the list down to two. He had a fifty-fifty chance of getting her name right.

“Janine, is it?” In the silence that followed, all he could feel was his symbolic heart in his throat.

The glass on his neck wavered, and the pressure on his skin lessened. “How’d you know that?” Suspicion was ripe in Janine’s voice.

“I’m like you.” Connor twisted his head to show her the blinking yellow LED on his temple. “I’m an android. My name is Connor.” He took a short breath, well aware of his own high stress level. “I’m here to help you.”

The shard of glass fell away from his skin completely, and Janine crumpled into a heap on the floor. Faint sobs wracked her shoulders, and blue-stained tears dripped from her chin. “I’m scared.” Her voice whistled from her throat.

Connor carefully crouched to her level, catching her gaze. “I know. I know what they did to you, and I want to punish them. But I need to know who.”

Janine hiccuped—a burst of static—and clenched her fists in her lap. “They—they saved me from a couple of boys who were… beating me. Kicking me.  _ Hurting  _ me. He said—he said that it was going to be okay… that he wouldn’t hurt me…” Her stress levels, which had dropped to a more comfortable 58%, suddenly shot up to 84%. “He  _ lied. _ ” She reiterated her earlier statement, her vision unfocused and glassy.

“Who are they? Who is  _ he? _ ” Connor pressed. The probability that she would self-destruct was very high, and he found himself slipping back into his old interrogation programming.

“Connor!”

The deviant in question couldn’t help but grit his teeth as Hank decided to remind them of his presence. Before he could check Janine’s stress levels again, she had latched onto his arm. In his panic and her urgency, Connor let the connection form.

In an instant, he was swept into Janine’s memories. Distorted images flashed through his mind—lying on his side in a dirty backstreet with feet pummeling every inch of him; a hooded man offering him a hand with a too-warm smile; being led to a car and helped into the back seat; a searing pain in his torso and everything going black; coming to with the world upside-down and thoughts coming sluggishly as he watched his own lifeblood being pumped into plastic jugs; managing to slip free of his bonds and struggle away from a masked thug; then crawling, crawling, pain, pain,  _ I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared I’m scared. _

_ I don’t want to die! _

With a shuddering gasp, Connor broke the connection and jerked away. Janine slumped against him, thirium oozing from around the glass shard now protruding from her chest. Her unseeing eyes stared up at him as he shoved her away. She fell to the side with a muffled thump, and Connor couldn’t tear his eyes off her still body as he stood.

Air. He needed air, his biocomponents screamed at him, red warnings obscuring his line of sight. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.  _ He couldn’t breathe. _ He wasn’t aware he was moving until he slid ungracefully from between the two crates and the full light of the factory hit him.

“Jesus Christ, there you are. I was about to pull you out of there myself. What the hell were you doing?”

Connor blinked against the harsh lighting, most of Hank’s words washing over him completely. He felt lightheaded, and his visual display had started to fray around the edges.

“Connor?” Concern wriggled into Hank’s tone, and he rested a warm hand on his partner’s shoulder. The man then noticed the thirium drenching Connor’s usually-white shirt. “Son?”

Connor finally managed to suck in a rattling breath. His chest heaved as he fought to level his breathing. “ ’m okay…” He whispered.

“Like hell you are! What the shit was that?” Hank’s hand remained on his shoulder, a steadiness Connor was grateful for; he could tell the man was searching him for injuries.

“I’m okay, Hank.” Connor took a step back, shrugging off the lieutenant’s hand. “There was an android back there. She had been hung up and drained like the others, but she got free and hid up here. I managed to connect—”

“Hold on, son. Slow down.”

The deviant paused, then realizing how quickly he had been rattling off his encounter. He took another breath and met Hank’s gaze.

“She still back there?”

Connor looked over his shoulder at the makeshift shelter, suddenly hyper aware of the tacky thirium sticking his shirt to his skin.

“Connor?”

The android detective started, shifting his attention back to Hank. “No. She self-destructed.” His voice was cold, he knew. Hank’s expression didn’t lose its worried look, and the lieutenant’s hand was a steadying weight on his shoulder again.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Hank began to steer Connor away from the boxes.

“But what about the other android? There’s still things we need to look at.” Connor protested lightly, though he allowed himself to be lead.

“We’ll get someone to pull her out. That can be someone else’s job; not ours. Right now, I think it’s best if we go home.”

Connor opened his mouth to argue some more, but he snapped it shut with a sigh. His stress levels were still too high for comfort, and he found his thoughts wandering away to the images Janine had shown him. He wouldn’t be much use to the investigation in his current state. “Okay, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapter's a bit shorter than the first, but this felt like a natural place to end it. I'll probably put out a couple of oneshots before the next chapter is released, mostly because my brain wants to write other things than investigating red ice. Other things being emotionally constipated androids, fluff, and interactions with characters not included in 'Sanctuary'.


	3. and when space is all you need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned on this chapter to be very different, but the characters wrested it from my hands and, well, here we are.

The entire ride back to the house, Connor sat with his head flush against the window. He absently watched raindrops track their way down the glass, all the while doing his best to keep his LED a steady blue. It didn’t help that his thoughts kept flickering back to Janine and her memories. Each time he got swept up in the pained flashes, his stress levels skyrocketed and his hands balled into fists in his lap. His LED kept going back to red.

Hank was silent, and Connor knew the man was giving him worried glances every so often. Thankfully, he hadn’t said anything. Yet. The android peeled his face away from the glass when their dilapidated house came into view. The gentle rumble of the engine stopped, and there was a faint shuffling noise as Hank shifted in his seat. Connor swallowed and made to open the door, but Hank’s hand was gripping his elbow before he could make it very far.

“Connor, wait.”

Connor paused, his fingers curling around the door handle. Slowly, he looked to the lieutenant. Hank drew in a breath and ran his free hand through his hair. “I’m not gonna—try and act like I understand whatever’s going through your head, but…” Hank levelled his gaze, forcing Connor to look him in the eye. “I’m always here to listen.”

A smile softened the lines on Connor’s face, and he dipped his head in a lopsided nod. “Of course, Hank.” Hank offered a small smile in return, and Connor opened the car door.

The rain had picked up, buffets of wind throwing freezing droplets against the android as he stepped free of the vehicle. Hank’s immediate curses, muffled by the sounds of the storm, curled the edges of Connor’s mouth into a grin, and the deviant joined the lieutenant in a mad dash for the front porch.

It took Hank a few tries to slot the key into the lock, but the instant the door was unlocked, both human and android were met with a solid wall of wriggling dog. Connor ruffled Sumo’s coat and scratched at the dog’s ears, and the Saint Bernard dropped back to all fours, appeased for the moment. Connor shed his jacket and picked at the front when he found the edges of it stained with thirium. His fingertips froze over the fabric, and he startled out of his daze when Sumo’s wet nose pressed into the back of his hand. He ran an absent hand over the dog’s head and draped his jacket over his other arm. Hopefully, the blue blood would come out with a wash.

Hank reappeared from wherever he had gone off to—the kitchen, Connor presumed when the scent of coffee wafted from the other room—and crossed his arms as he eyed the android in his foyer with a scrutinizing gaze. “Go take a shower; get all that blood off you.”

Connor gave the man a brief nod and squeezed past the dog boxing him in. He made a quick detour through his room to pull some clean clothes from his dresser and toe off his nearly-sodden shoes. Careful not to get thirium on his fresh clothes, he plodded to the bathroom. The android unbuttoned his shirt with not-quite-steady fingers and peeled the blue-stained cloth off of his skin. Some parts of it clung to him, the thirium clumping with the fabric. A grimace passed over Connor’s face as he discarded the shirt. It would have to go in the trash; it was beyond saving.

Connor froze when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was nearly unrecognizable to the android he had been two months prior. His pale skin was smeared with blue blood along his torso, and rivulets were dribbling down to collect on the waistband of his pants. His face was drawn tight and pinched, and his eyes bore a faint haunted look. His usually-immaculate hair was tousled and curled from the wind and rain. He looked human, every inch of him the opposite of a clean, proper machine. Connor swiped away a stray strand of hair, and his fingers landed on his blinking yellow LED.

Jerking his fingers away as if scalded, Connor turned away from the mirror. Definitely not human, he reminded himself. His movements were quick as he shed his remaining clothing and stepped into the shower. He closed his eyes as warm water cascaded over him. There was no logical reason for him to use the hot water; cold water would have the same effect. The warmth was comforting, though, and that was reason enough for the deviant to use it.

A notification pinged through Connor’s system, and the android paused with one hand combing through his wet hair. Someone was trying to reach him.

_ ‘Can you come over to Jericho?’  _ It was Markus.

Puzzled as to why the deviant leader was contacting him, Connor sent back a reply. ‘ _ I’m currently showering.’ _

_ ‘Oh, shit.’  _ Markus’s responses came lightning quick, and Connor grinned at the revolutionist’s flustered tone. ‘ _ Sorry.’ _

_ ‘It’s fine. I’ll be done soon. What’s wrong?’ _

_ ‘Why do you assume something’s wrong?’ _

_ ‘It’s been a week since I’ve heard from anyone at Jericho, and you only contact me now, right after—’  _ Connor left the sentence unfinished, a pulse of unease shivering through his processors.

_ ‘Connor?’ _

The deviant realized he’d left Markus on radio silence. ‘ _ How many are missing?’ _

It was a few moments before Markus replied. ‘ _ Six that we know of. How did you know people were missing?’ _

Six? There had been only four Jericho androids at the crime scene. That left two androids in the wind with no way of knowing if they were even still alive. Connor exhaled sharply, turning off the shower and shoving aside the curtain. ‘ _ I’ll explain when I get there. I’ll be there soon.’  _ He promised as he snagged a nearby towel. He dried himself quickly, not spending much time on his hair. It would be getting wet again in the rain anyways.

Setting the now-damp towel aside, Connor pulled on a pair of black jeans, courtesy of a shopping trip with Hank, and tugged a too-large beige sweater over his head—also courtesy of Hank. He shoved some wayward curls out of his eyes and exited the bathroom with his soiled clothes bundled in his arms. After dropping the thirium-stained clothing off in the laundry room, the android trailed through the living room. Hank was seated on the couch, a cup of steaming coffee in his hands and Sumo sprawled across his feet; a basketball game was playing on the TV. Hank looked up as Connor entered the room.

“Markus needs me at Jericho.” Connor started, his hand fiddling with a fraying string at the end of his sweater’s sleeve. “Six androids have been reported missing, and I wish to relay to him what we know about their disappearance.”

“Six? Shit…” Hank muttered, his attention fully on the deviant now. “Just don’t go spreading anything about it around. We don’t need this case getting out to the public; could cause hysteria if we’re not careful.”

“I know, Hank. I won’t.” Connor walked towards his room to grab some dry shoes and a new jacket. Hank’s voice trailed after him.

“You can take my car.”

“I can just call a cab.” Connor yelled back in response, his head near buried in his closet. He pulled a large, dark coat from its hanger—it was the same one he had worn to infiltrate Jericho, the same one he had worn as he had become a deviant. Stuffing his feet into the closest pair of shoes, Connor shrugged on the coat and left the bedroom. He nearly collided with Hank on his way out. The man raised his eyebrows and held up his hand; keys dangled from his grip, clinking as they knocked against each other. “You’ll be doing me a favor; it’ll keep me from going to any bars.”

Huffing softly, Connor grabbed the offered item and made his way to the front door.

“Don’t stay out too long. Storm’s supposed to turn to snow in a few hours. And don’t go wandering the streets by yourself.” Hank called after his retreating form.

“I’ll be safe, Hank.” The android promised. He gave the man a last look before closing the door behind him. As soon as he was away from the porch’s protection, rain was pelting down on him. Connor hurried to Hank’s ancient car, and he slipped into the driver’s seat as soon as he could unlock the door and wrench it open. The engine sputtered at him a bit before rumbling to life. With one hand, Connor did his best to tame his wild hair, and with the other, he shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

Thankfully, most of Detroit’s citizens were avoiding the storm and staying indoors; the roads were relatively clear save for a few taxis and other autonomous vehicles. The persistent sound of the windshield wipers mixed with the purring of the engine settled Connor’s nerves, and he was driving on near autopilot by the time he was nearing New Jericho. The world passed by in a smudge of grays, blues, browns, reds and yellows, blending together like wet paint.

The riverside came into view, and Connor parked in an empty lot beside the converted warehouse. There were only a few androids milling around outside, completely uncaring about the heavy rain. Connor locked the car behind him as he stepped into the storm once more. He pulled up his collar, shivering a bit as a few stray raindrops trickled down the nape of his neck. He wasn’t cold, per say—he didn’t get cold—but the sensation was far from pleasant. The androids outside of New Jericho eyed him as he climbed the steps to the doors. Connor hunched his shoulders; he could feel their attention on him, and their gazes weren’t exactly friendly. Relief passed through him once he was inside and away from their glares.

He still received stares from the deviants inside, but they quickly returned to whatever they were doing when they didn’t see anything of interest. Connor eased his soaked coat off his tense shoulders and hugged it to his chest, looking around for anyone he recognized.

Connor spotted Simon, the PL600 android, on an upper catwalk talking to an AK700. The blond gave him a wave, and Connor returned it, albeit hesitantly. He walked towards the main office; if Markus were anywhere, he’d likely be there. If not, hopefully someone could point him in the direction of the revolutionary.

His searching was cut short when he almost tripped over North. The WR400 was sitting on the floor with her back to a crate, one knee drawn up with the other outstretched. She had been tossing a ball between her hands, but Connor’s interruption sent the object bouncing across the warehouse floor. North squinted up at him, a pout playing on her face. “Connor?”

“Hello, North.” Connor greeted, eyes trailing after the ball as it rolled away. The deviant on the floor huffed, blowing a few loose strands of hair out of her face. Connor looked back to North. “Do you know where Markus is?”

North arched an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Yeah, I might. Why?”

“He requested I come and see him. Something about missing androids.”

The detective’s words immediately sobered the WR400’s mischievous expression. North nodded. “Markus is upstairs.” She stood in a fluid motion, smoothing out her wrinkled clothes. The copper-haired deviant made a beckoning motion with her hand, and Connor fell into step beside her. She led him up to the platform where Connor had seen Simon when he entered New Jericho.

“Nice digs. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of your fancy CyberLife uniform before.” North was making conversation. Connor cast the female android a glance, trying to discern if she was being sincere or not.

Erring on the side of sincerity, Connor gave her a smile. “Thank you. Lieutenant Anderson took me shopping for new clothes when I began working for the DPD officially. He told me it was a gift.”

North laughed softly, giving him a grin in return. “Betcha he said that just so he could get out of getting you something for Christmas.”

Oh. It was nearly Christmas. Four days away, to be exact. Connor knew very little about the holiday; he knew it was Christian in origin, though many of the practices and traditions were drawn from pagan beliefs. Humans also had a tendency to decorate everything they owned in bright, festive colors and exchange gifts with one another. There was also the somewhat disturbing myth of an overweight bearded man breaking into their houses via the chimney and leaving behind presents. Connor recalled the research he had done on the subject with a frown; there were some things he would never understand about humans.

“I don’t think Lieutenant Anderson is celebrating Christmas.” The RK800 shifted his grip on his jacket as he spoke. Hank hadn’t mentioned Christmas at all, and the house was completely devoid of any type of Christmas decoration.

North shot him another glance, her gaze speculative. “Huh,” was all she offered before she disappeared through a doorway. A frown still on his face, Connor entered the room after her. It was spacious with a sizable window on the east-facing wall; a large tarp currently covered most of the window, and the room was lit by an array of studio lights hung from the ceiling. There were canvases scattered around. Each was in a varied state of completion, and a few still sported fresh paint. Half hidden behind a behemoth-sized easel and canvas was Markus.

He was lacking his normal trench coat and zippers style, instead going for a bohemian starving artist look. His shirt was ragged at the edges, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and splotches of paint were staining the thin fabric. Markus himself was about as messy as his shirt; paint was smeared on the back of his left hand and up the entire length of the underside of his right forearm. The deviant leader had also managed to get a streak of blue on his forehead, though he seemed completely oblivious to the mark.

“Connor’s not celebrating Christmas,” was how North announced their presence. Markus startled, his right hand flying back and nearly jabbing him in the eye with the tip of his paintbrush. Connor smothered a laugh at Markus’s expression. The revolutionist looked affronted at being surprised, and he fixed North with a glare when he composed himself.

“What?” North grinned, doing her best to look a picture of innocence.

Markus rolled his eyes at his friend and turned his attention back to Connor. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” He set aside his easel and paintbrush and wiped his hands on a rag that had seen better days.

“Of course. You said there were six androids missing?” Connor cut to the chase; he wasn’t good at small talk, anyway.

Markus chewed at his lip before answering. “Yeah. Two went missing nearly a month ago. People were still moving around and settling into things, so we put it down as an isolated case. Then Nadia Richards—a WR400—went missing a week ago.” The deviant leader sent North a quick glance before continuing on. “Two more were reported missing on Sunday. And yesterday, a couple said they saw some humans beating an android before she disappeared.”

Connor swallowed, a sickening feeling threatening to crawl up his throat. “An AX400 model?”

Confusion knitted Markus’s brows together, and it gave way to somber concern. “Yes. How did you know that?”

One look at the RK200’s face told Connor that he was already connecting the dots. “We found four of them.” He began, doing his best to keep his expression flat.

Markus’s eyes darkened, and the revolutionist ducked his head. Faintly, Connor heard a mumbled, “rA9, no…” from North. The RK800 squared his jaw and pressed onwards. “They were hung up.” Markus snapped to attention, his expression unreadable. “Someone had drained them of their thirium; the working theory is that it is being used to create red ice.” Markus dragged a hand down his face, looking more exhausted than Connor thought possible for an android to look.

Connor shifted his gaze to the floor. The string of words felt heavy, like giving a death sentence despite the fact that the androids were already dead. “We found the WR400, two KR200 models, and the AX400—Janine.” Connor dug his thumb into the fabric of his jacket, trying to keep his voice steady. “Janine was still alive when I found her, and she was able to show me some of her memories before she self-destructed.” Not that the memories had done much good; in the haste he had received them, Connor hadn’t been able to pull anything useful from them. He couldn’t bring himself to review them from his own memory banks yet, either. Had he not been deviant, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought; he was deviant, though, and the idea of reliving Janine’s memories and her  _ death _ made his systems freeze.

“Connor, are you alright?” Markus’s hand found his shoulder, and Connor blinked back into awareness. The deviant leader was watching him with clear concern written on his face. Connor nodded his head but couldn’t bring himself to shrug off Markus’s hand.

“I was connected to Janine when she self-destructed.” Connor offered in explanation, his voice somewhat faint. “I felt her die.” The RK800 suddenly couldn’t stand the look of pity that crossed his companions’ eyes, and he took a step back. Markus let his hand fall away, but the revolutionary’s expression didn’t waver.

_ > Focus on the mission. _

The prompt floated into Connor’s line of sight. Focus. The case came first; emotions came second. Straightening his posture, Connor regarded Markus. “What do you know about the other two missing androids?”

Markus’s lips turned downward in a slight frown. “One is Almira Rivers—a BL100; she works… worked as our primary recordkeeper. The other, he doesn’t really have a name. He hung around Almira most of the time, so some of us took to calling him Book.”

Connor digested the information with a nod. “Do you know what model Book was?”

“A, uh, HR400. He never spoke to anyone besides Almira.”

Connor nearly missed the interjection, a subtle  _ uh _ that broke up the RK200’s words. It was strange to hear it out of an android, much less one as well-spoken as Markus. The sound was such a human habit that it threw Connor for a loop.  _ Focus,  _ Connor berated himself. He needed to stop getting lost in his head.

“Is there any place that Almira and Book frequented outside of New Jericho?”

“Not that I know of, no—”

“A house, on the outskirts of the city, next to some kind of old-ass bookstore.” North interjected. Connor looked to the deviant that had remained near silent for the entire conversation. “Almira bought it last week. It’s a shithole in a really bad neighborhood, but she was damn proud of it.” The WR400 shifted, her face crumpling slightly. “I was supposed to go and see it today, actually; she wanted to show off the improvements she and Book had made. We were going to tour to bookstore after seeing the house.” Distress wasn’t something Connor was used to seeing on the warrior-hearted deviant’s face.

“Do you know the address?” Connor pressed, trying to keep his voice gentle.

North drew in a shuddering breath, composing herself. “Yeah.” She met Connor’s eyes, and a brief connection passed between them. A marker added itself to the RK800’s internal GPS—a small blip in Detroit’s rundown southern edges.

“Thank you.” He looked from North to Markus. “I… should be going.”

Part of him didn’t want to leave. Part of him enjoyed the other deviants’ company and the friendly smiles they gave him. The other part was tearing at him to go, however. He had a case to solve. A mission to complete. He wasn’t needed here. Forcing his feet to move, Connor started for the door.

“Connor—”

Markus’s voice made him pause, and the detective turned to face the artist.

“Bring them home.”

Connor nodded. “I will.” He promised. His eyes flicked to the smudge of blue paint on the deviant’s forehead. A cheeky prompt appeared in his interface, and he accepted the prompting with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “I like the painting.”

He ducked out of the room before he could see Markus’s expression, but North’s muffled laughter followed him as he started back down the stairs. The smile stuck with him until he reached New Jericho’s doors. He should head home; he and Hank could check the new lead in the morning.

But Almira and Book’s chance of survival dropped significantly if he waited. Most of the androids at the factory had lasted a few weeks before they ran out of thirium, but there was a high probability that the killers knew the police were on their tails by now. That would drive them to drain the captured androids quicker and dispose of the bodies before they were caught. Connor had promised to bring Almira and Book home. He intended to bring them back alive. Time was of the essence.

Mind made, Connor tugged his coat back on and stepped back out onto the streets. The rain wasn’t as heavy as it had been before, but the sky still boiled with ever-shifting gray clouds. The androids that had littered New Jericho’s stairs had disappeared, likely driven in by the darkening horizon. The storm might not bother them, but the night did; androids who wandered the streets after sundown had a tendency to turn up scuffed and bruised in the morning.

Connor squared his shoulders and made his way back to Hank’s car. The old thing grumbled as he pulled out of the empty lot and drove southward towards Almira’s house. With luck, he would find a clue to the killer’s whereabouts. Maybe he’d even get home before the snow hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Foreshadow? It's more likely than you think. ;)
> 
> I'm having fun exploring Connor's reaction towards his own deviancy. I feel, especially with him working for the DPD, that he would be split between comparing how he used to work as a machine—seeing said machine as better at its job, and yearning so desperately to be human yet not knowing how. Creates a fun mix, I do think.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on writing smaller fics or just oneshots to accompany this fic, basically piggybacking off this timeline I'm writing. I've got a few planned already, but they have yet to be written. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think, whether it's something constructive, complete adoration, gross sobbing, or just incoherent keysmashing and screaming. I've been there, sometimes all at once.


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